


I've Got You

by skittenninja



Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt Dean Winchester, Werewolves, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittenninja/pseuds/skittenninja
Summary: Whumptober 2020 Day Seven: It was supposed to be a normal hunt for a group of werewolves. But when had things ever gone right for them?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949905
Kudos: 30





	I've Got You

The first fight was over almost as fast as it started, which should have been a major clue for Dean that something was wrong.

He had taken the back door while Sam took the front, both of them intending to cut off the werewolves’ main escape routes. There were around four of them living in this one bungalow, renting out the place until people around town started to catch on to all the dead bodies with missing hearts. Then they’d pack up shop and move on to the next town.

This was how they’d tracked the group of them here, and Dean knew they had to attack now or risk them being gone by morning. Sam had told him it wasn’t a good idea, that they didn’t know enough about the house yet and that they should at least call for back-up.

Dean had insisted they would be fine.

Dean had been wrong.

Upon entering (or rather breaking and entering), Dean immediately found one of the werewolves sitting at the kitchen table. He’d met the guy before, if only briefly, when Dean had accidentally interrupted him ripping out some poor guy’s heart.

He only got time to stand before Dean shot a silver bullet straight into his heart. There was no getting up from that.

Two gunshots echoed from the other side of the house, a long gap in between them. Given the timing, Dean assumed Sam had found two of the other werewolves and taken care of them.

That just left one.

With trepidation, Dean rounded the corner of the kitchen and moved out into a hallway. He clicked on his flashlight rather than turning on the chandelier overhead to maintain at least some surprise with his attack, despite the obvious deadly encounters that had just loudly occurred.

Silence hung heavy from the atrocious green walls, and the longer Dean went without finding the last werewolf, the worse of a feeling he got.

He reached a door and pulled it open, its hinges moving without a sound. Dean had been expecting to see a room, but instead he was met with a dark staircase that led down into an even darker basement. The whole area looked intentionally unfinished, like someone had given up a quarter of the way through a renovation and never touched a hammer again.

Cautiously, Dean crept down the staircase, finding it a bit odd that the wood didn’t creak at all, even with his heavy boots.

He finally landed on the concrete floor, scanning the area with his flashlight and bracing himself for an attack at any second. After he had given the whole room a once-over, however, he found that the place was empty. There were a few boxes lying around and Dean knew there was probably a cockroach hanging out in a corner, but other than that, he was the only person down there.

Dean did one last perimeter check before turning back towards the stairs, preparing to head up again. Sam would probably find the last werewolf at any second.

Instead of being able to meet up with his brother, Dean was actually greeted with a figure standing at the top of the stairs, one he could only see for a moment before the door swung shut and plunged the room even further into darkness.

Dean jumped back and raised his flashlight just in time to see the werewolf lunging straight for his face, her claws and teeth on full display as she let out a guttural growl.

There was just enough time for Dean to cross his arms over his face as he felt the woman rip straight into his skin. A cry of pain was on the tip of his tongue when his back made contact with floor far too quickly, concrete meeting bone and flesh in a rather unfriendly greeting.

All the air came rushing out of Dean’s lungs as his head joined his back in rushing to meet the hard ground, pain and dizziness immediately spreading through his skull. Dean went to cry out again but trying to breathe in seemed to light his chest on fire, and the werewolf sitting on top of him didn’t help.

Through hazy vision, Dean could just barely make out the silhouette of the person above him. He tried to throw a punch, but it missed by a mile and hit nothing but air. He couldn’t even aim his fist, not with his vision swimming in almost total darkness.

A pain ripped through his side and Dean could feel her claws and fingers digging right into his flesh, blood immediately soaking through his clothes and pooling on the floor. It was so intense that Dean managed to give a strangled cry in agony despite the burning in his chest.

He struggled again, trying to get the werewolf off of him, but it was no use. Dean had no idea where his gun or even his flashlight had gone, and all of his limbs felt ridiculously weak. It was like trying to swim through gelatin, the air slowing his movements and steering him off course.

She’d go for the heart next, and Dean would be done for.

She thankfully didn’t get the chance to, however, because light suddenly streamed into the basement from somewhere above him.

It looked like the werewolf turned her head towards whatever had interrupted them, but she was immediately struck in the face by some flying projectile. She went down, and with her weight shifted, Dean was able to muster up just enough energy to roll over and away, stomach lurching with his body as the room did a somersault.

The fourth gunshot rang through the empty basement, and Dean didn’t have to look to know it had found its target.

“Dean!” He heard Sam’s voice call out, and Dean responded with something between a wheeze and a groan.

Footsteps approached him before a set of hands turned him back over. Dean couldn’t quite see his brother’s face, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the head injury or lack of light.

“Hey, come on, talk to me,” Sam said urgently, scanning him for injuries and then pausing when he seemed to notice the giant gash in Dean’s side.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean replied, the pain in his winded chest not allowing him to say anything else.

Sam was silent for a second, and Dean could tell he was frowning. Then he got right to work.

He pulled something out of his jacket pocket, some kind of handkerchief or bandana, and pressed it to Dean’s wound.

“Keep your hand on that,” he said, “We’ll figure out something better soon.”

Dean complied and rested his hand on the dampening fabric, that action alone taking so much concentration.

“Right, I’m gonna help you stand up here, because I really don’t think you can put one foot in front of the other right now.”

Before Dean knew it, Sam had propped him up against his shoulder and was walking him towards the basement stairs. Moving made him want to vomit and he kept nearly tripping over himself, but Sam was there to catch him every time.

They slowly made their way up the exposed planks of wood, Sam clearly not wanting Dean to have to move too fast in the condition he was in. After what felt like an eternity of nausea and blurred vision and pain, they finally reached the top. As covertly as they could with Sam practically carrying him, they escaped from the house and into the night, the silhouette of the Impala exactly where they’d left it.

Sam gingerly set Dean down in the passenger seat, the time between his door closing and the driver’s side door opening incredibly slim. Sam was in a hurry.

He could feel the car start to speed off into the nighttime country road, the woods that served as a buffer between all the houses covering their escape.

Sam was calling someone, Dean realized, but he couldn’t understand what was being said for some reason. The words drifted in and out of his ears, his mind unable to focus on anything.

Time seemed non-existent as they sped down the pavement, trees all looking the same and no car ever approaching them. Dean could feel himself starting to slip into unconsciousness, despite his best efforts and despite Sam’s attempts to keep him awake through words his brain refused to comprehend.

The last thing Dean remembered before the world went dark was a single sentence that managed to cut through the dizziness, like his brain wanted to cling on to it for dear life.

“You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

And Dean believed him.


End file.
